


An Eye For an Eye

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, M/M, Post Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things go bump in the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Eye For an Eye

Just past the halfway mark in his descent, Sam thought he heard the creak of a floorboard below and to his left. He froze in place on the stairs, as the bare bulb illuminating the stairwell abruptly fizzled and crackled before fading out entirely. The other downstairs lights swiftly followed suit, filaments sputtering in angry protest before, one by one, they died. Even the cheerful blaze in the fireplace was suddenly extinguished, as if doused by an invisible bucket of icy water. Sam's eyes narrowed, trying to penetrate the darkness, his quick mind calculating the distance to the spare rifle stashed behind Bobby's ratty old couch, the knife block on the kitchen counter, the silver letter opener on a shelf in the study...

The gun was the nearest weapon. Ten, maybe fifteen paces from where he stood.

Sam was in motion before a second creak of a floorboard had time to sound. Fingers trailing lightly on the bannister for guidance, he hastened down the remaining stairs; was but three steps from the bottom one when he felt a sharp tug on his leg and he was falling... falling... 

With no time to tuck and roll, Sam face-planted with a resounding crash, air forced from his lungs in a painful _woosh._ For a moment, he saw stars: bright spots of light which pulsed in sequence with the savage pounding in his head. As he slowly lifted himself up from the hardwood floor, and turned his aching head towards the unknown assailant, a strange, shadowy figure loomed in his vision: a flash of sharp white teeth, a sense of wrongness that made his mind cringe back in horror. And, then, he saw nothing at all.

 

~*~

 

Castiel and Dean traded lazy kisses, shamelessly nestled in the warm cocoon of a well-rumpled bed; intent upon picking up where they'd left off when Sam had intruded, but in no hurry to get there. For now, this was more than enough: the rough rasp of whiskers as their cheeks slid together; the heated, wetness of each other's mouth; teasing tongues and playful love bites; loving touches that soothed as much as they enflamed. Yes, for now this was perfect. Their bodies were sated, though the angel's softened cock – gently nudging at the human's lubed and cum-leaking entrance – was already springing back to life.

 _Angelic stamina... Awesome!_ Dean sighed contentedly, and gave an experimental wiggle that drew an answering sigh of contentment from his mate.

 _Cuddling is pretty awesome too,_ Dean thought – though he would vehemently deny the girly sentiment if ever challenged. But there was no one around to see the mighty Winchester tiger reduced to a purring pussy cat. No one but Castiel. And the angel certainly had no hang-ups when it came to sharing personal space with Dean – in public or in private.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured, his mouth tenderly laving a trail of fire down the human's neck. “Dean...”

“Yes?” Dean gasped.

“Just... Dean.” Castiel gave a helpless little shrug. What else could he say? That one word encompassed his world, his reason for being.

Dean read all this in Castiel's continued silence, and more. Feeling overwhelmed by a slew of emotion – _I don't deserve this – I can't believe you're mine_ – still Dean's clumsy tongue managed to shape the perfect response, the only response his heart could ever make. “I love you, Cas,” he breathed, and pressed their lips together, swallowing the angel's grateful whimper and transforming it into a lust filled moan.

 

~*~

 

An echoing crash, followed a heartbeat later by a shotgun blast, sent Dean plummeting through empty space for the second time that night. This time he managed not to roll off of the bed, though a follow up shot startled him enough that he stumbled as he gained his feet. Lunging for the light switch, his toe impacted with a hard metal object lying on the floor. 

“Sam,” he said, blinking dazedly in the sudden light, staring at his brother's abandoned shotgun.

Castiel was already dressed, his head up like a hound scenting danger. He cast an uncertain glance at his still naked lover, every instinct screaming at him to remain at Dean's side. 

A third gunshot sounded. And a fourth.

“Sam,” Dean repeated urgently. “Go!”

Castiel vanished.

Dean hastily donned his jeans, risking serious injury as he carelessly tugged up the zipper. He paused only long enough to snatch up Ruby's knife and Sam's gun, before tearing from the room barefooted. Just as he neared the top of the stairs, a piercing scream rent the night, the hateful fury behind the eerie cry literally making the hair stand up on the back of his neck. For a moment, in the deadly silence which followed, it seemed as if the world itself stood still. But then, as abruptly as it had stopped, time resumed, Bobby's steady litany of curses and Dean's harsh breathing and rapid footsteps rushing in to fill the void.

“Sam!” Dean shouted, bumping into Castiel's solid, familiar back as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He tried to squeeze past to reach his brother, puzzled by the angel's obstinate resistance.

“Sam!” he shouted again, and then again even louder, “Sammy?”

Dean's hand snaked past the blockade of Castiel's arm to fumble with the light switch. The room stubbornly remained bathed in darkness. Dean's heart fluttered against his rib cage like a trapped, wild thing; a frantic _no-no-no_ rhythm taking up the beat in his brain... 

Three things occurred almost simultaneously. 

A pale wash of light flooded the room as the malfunctioning switch finally responded to the increasingly agitated flicking of the hunter's finger.

Castiel's deep voice rumbled, “Don't touch him,” in Dean's ear. 

And Sam...

Sam, who was slumped against the wall, boneless, unmoving, slowly lifted his head. “I'm all right, Dean,” he said.

Except...

Except that wasn't true.

Dean stared blankly at his brother, grateful beyond belief for the angel's quick, tight grip on his arm.

“Sweet mother of God,” Bobby moaned.

“What?” Sam's hand drifted up to his face, feeling a slick wetness there. Curious, he dropped his hand back down and held it out at eye level. “Am I bleeding?” he said. “How bad is it? Dean, do you have a flashlight? All the light bulbs blew.”

Silence and darkness were his reply.

“Dean!” Sam repeated more sharply. “Come on, stop fooling around. I wanna see.”

“The light is on,” Castiel informed the young hunter, when Dean proved unable to form an answer.

“But...” A deep furrow creased Sam's brow, comprehension of what this fact meant uncharacteristically slow to dawn. “But, I can't see.”

“That's because you're blind, Sam,” Castiel said gently.

 

~*~

 

The next half hour passed in a blur for Dean. Castiel blocked his and Bobby's every attempt to approach Sam, going so far at one point as to mojo them both across the room. Dean's fingers ached with the need to touch his brother. Whether he sought to reassure Sam, or himself, he couldn't say. All he knew was that it physically pained him to stand back and watch as Sam shuffled slowly across the room, hands outstretched to feel for any objects in his way. Castiel hovered at his side, offering the verbal guidance necessary to direct a safe passage, but careful to not so much as brush a sleeve against the human.

“Let me get this straight,” Sam said, finally seated at the kitchen table. “My eyes are gone?”

“Not exactly,” Castiel replied. Perched on the edge of a nearby chair, he peered intently into Sam's unseeing eyes. “It's more like they've been replaced.”

“With what?” Sam wondered, unsuccessfully trying to keep a quaver from his voice.

“Stone,” Dean said. The first word he'd spoken since he'd turned on the light.

“Not exactly,” Castiel repeated, shaking his head in growing frustration, sharply feeling the limitations of the English language. “You are familiar with the legend of the Gorgon?”

“Sure.” Sam nodded. “The snake-haired goddess. One glimpse of her could turn a man to stone. But Medusa's long gone. Perseus cut off her head.”

“Yes, Μεδουσα was slain, but she has two immortal sisters, Σθεννω and Ευρυαλη – Stheno and Euryale. To paraphrase Aeschylus, 'together they formed the three winged sisters, the snake-haired _drakontomalloi,_ loathed of mankind, whom no one of mortal kind shall look upon and still draw breath.'” 

Sam took a deep breath and thumped a fist against his chest. “I'm still, breathing, Cas.”

“So you are. And you can thank the cover of the night for that, Sam. It did not save your eyesight, but it saved your life.”

“Thank God for small mercies,” Bobby said wryly, pouring a generous round of shots and downing his own before passing the rest around. No one mentioned the slight trembling of his hands. The old hunter was obviously deeply shaken both by Sam's plight and his own narrow escape. Had the Gorgon not fled, screaming her outrage at gunfire and a vengeful angel's approach, he could well be blind now too. _Sam could be dead,_ he thought, and shivered. 

Dean also tossed his shot back in one quick gulp, and slammed the glass down to the tabletop. Sam flinched at the unexpected noise, and a wave of guilt washed across Dean's face.

“Sorry, Sam,” he murmured, as he automatically reached out to pat his brother's arm. At the last second, his hand jerked back and he looked questioningly at Castiel.

The angel only hesitated a moment before lightly resting his own fingers on the back of Sam's right hand. When nothing happened, except for Sam giving a small start of surprise, the angel gently guided Sam's fingers until they could curl around the shot glass. As Sam slowly sipped the fiery beverage, Castiel slid his untouched glass over to Dean, nodding in permission. And finally – finally! – Dean was free to drape a warm and heavy arm across Sam's shoulder. Then and only then did he gratefully down the second drink.

“It might not be so bad being blind,” Sam said, leaning into his brother's one armed hug. “I mean... Things could be worse, right? I'll save a fortune in brain bleach if I don't have to see Dean's naked ass every time I turn around. And I've always wanted a dog...”

“Whoa! Hold on there, Sam. This...” Dean gestured at his brother's eyes. “This is temporary, right, Cas? Reversible at the very least.”

Castiel met Dean's pleading, hopeful look with a level stare. “I don't know,” he said. 

“But you're an angel!” Dean's hands made exasperated flapping motions. “You can zap him better, right?”

“That is unlikely. This is old and powerful magic, Dean. That is why I kept you from Sam until the spell had fully metabolized. You could have become swept up in the lingering magic. I was not prepared to risk your eyes.”

“So where does that leave us, then? Up shit creek without a paddle?”

Castiel titled his head while he considered this strangely worded question.

“Screwed, Cas,” Dean translated. “We're screwed.”

“Basically... yes. The Greek gods have often been, shall we say, capricious in their dealings with mankind. Nor do they look upon angels with any great favour. I very much doubt a Gorgon would be willing to negate her spell, even if she had the power to do so.”

“I'm going to kill the bitch,” Dean muttered. “Maybe lopping off her head will void the magic.”

“And just how do you propose to do that?” Bobby challenged. “Better strike a pose you're comfortable with. It would be a shame to have your head stuck up your ass for all eternity.”

“Percy-boy managed to do it,” Dean said stubbornly. “So can I. I just have to find her. Cas, you'll let me borrow your sword, right? And I can find myself a nice, shiny shield somewhere, maybe at one of those Renaissance Fair supply places...”

“No, Dean!” Sam and Cas chorused. 

Dean glared at them each in turn. Sam's stoic expression left no room for negotiation, but Castiel's gaze dropped to the kitchen floor.

“Cas,” Dean wheedled. “You'll help me, won't you? Maybe you can be the hero in this retelling of the myth. After all, you're not 'of mortal kind'. You can spit right in her eye and –”

“My vessel is human, Dean. Susceptible.”

“So lose the meat suit. Go all 'multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent' on her ass. Smite the damned bitch to Hell and back. Rain down a little of that famous angelic wrath.”

“Dean...”

“What the fuck good are you if you won't help me?”

“Won't or can't? Dean, I am not omnipotent. Nor am I indestructible. A single Gorgon is a close match for me in battle. If the sisters happen to join forces, they will scatter my atoms to the solar winds. But if that's all I am to you, a tool, then I will do it. I'll throw my life away for you. It wouldn't be the first time.”

“Guys! Guys!” Sam begged. “Don't say something now that you'll regret later. If Cas can help us, Dean, he will. You know that.”

Dean's shoulders slumped dejectedly. “Yeah,” he said in a tiny voice. “I know.”

“And Dean adores you, Cas,” Sam continued. “You know that's true.”

“Yes,” Castiel whispered. “I know.”

Dean reached past his brother to take Castiel's hand. Carefully, he laced his fingers with the angel's, and held on tight. “I'm sorry, Cas. I get a little crazy sometimes when it comes to Sam.”

 _“Sometimes?”_ The beginnings of a smile twitched at the corner of Castiel's mouth.

“If it's any consolation, he's just as much of an obnoxious asshole when it comes to worrying about you.” Sam grinned, and Castiel's stern countenance lightened further.

“If you ladies are quite through,” Bobby drawled, “I'd like to draw your attention to the bigger picture. Sam's misfortune aside, what the hell is a Gorgon doing in Sioux Falls? For that matter, why is my house suddenly demon central? I ganked two of them on my way up from the panic room, and two others got away from me. Sure, the wards are down, but shouldn't it take a day or so for word to get around?”

“That is a very good point, Bobby,” Castiel said slowly. “I wonder...” Blue eyes lost focus as the angel's expanded senses efficiently probed his surroundings.

“Cas?” Dean said impatiently, after several long minutes had passed and still the angel remained oblivious, lost to a myriad of other planes of existence, ethereal worlds that human eyes could not see.

“Dean, the coin!” Castiel blurted abruptly, startling Dean with the ferocity of his words and expression. “What did you do with it?”

“The coin? What coin?”

“The metamorphosed coin. Crowley.”

“Oh! _That_ coin. It's... it's still in my shirt pocket, I think. I was wet... and cold... All I wanted was a hot shower and some clean clothes. I chucked my shirt on the bathroom floor. As far as I know it's still there... unless Sam or Bobby did my laundry.”

“What am I, your mother?” Bobby muttered. “Do your own damned laundry. ”

“In your pocket!” Castiel shouted, drowning out the old hunter's grumblings. “Dean, what in Heaven's name were you thinking? Don't you know how much power that coin contains? It's pure, distilled evil. Everything Crowley was, all the power he wielded... condensed. And with Bobby's wards down... with nothing to conceal its presence here... well, it's like a beacon screaming out in the night. I'm here! Come get me! Every supernatural creature within a 4000 mile radius will be making their way towards it.”

“Excuse me if I had other things on my mind!” Dean snapped. “Little distractions like you tearing off to Heaven. And then you came back... and ... and... well, let's just say you whisked me off my feet. That stupid coin was the last thing on my mind when I had myself an armful of angel.”

“I hung your shirt on a hook to dry,” Sam said in the sudden, uncomfortable silence that followed Dean's passionate outburst. “Behind the bathroom door. It should still be there.”

“I'll check,” Dean said.

“No!” Castiel exclaimed, extending a quick hand and easily pushing Dean back down in his chair. “I'll go. You stay here.” He vanished with a furious rustle of feathers.

Dean was more than a little furious himself. “You don't have to baby me, Cas,” he muttered darkly. “I'm not afraid of Crowley's friends.” 

“I didn't know Crowley had friends,” Bobby snorted, amused.

“He didn't,” Castiel said, popping back into existence with Dean's shirt carefully held at arm's length, pinched between two fingers as if the burden it carried made it too loathsome to touch. “He had allies... and the occasional sexual partner. He was feared, he was respected, and his demise created a power vacuum that will take decades to fill. There are many contending factions, and no one clear leader amongst them. Hell is in chaos, total chaos, and it's likely to remain so for the foreseeable future. Unless someone were to somehow obtain this coin. That – in combination with the proper spell – would grant them instant access to the throne, so to speak.” 

“Or allow them to bring back Crowley,” Dean murmured. “Supposing some poor, sick bastard was crazy enough to want that.”

A heavy silence fell as the hunters and the angel contemplated this unsavoury possibility.

“Well,” Bobby said finally. “We'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen, won't we?”

“Damned right!” Dean replied. “Uh... Anyone know how we're going to do that?”

Had he been able to, Sam would have rolled his eyes in response. As it was, however, he had to trust that Bobby or Castiel had done so in his stead.


End file.
